


bleeding scarlet

by neonthrone



Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9497978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonthrone/pseuds/neonthrone
Summary: In a world where you see only one color until you find your soulmate, Scarlet is different. She doesn't see any color at all, and doesn't expect to. She has more important things to do, anyway.Enter Wolf, who only sees red.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Felicia: your promised birthday gift. You're the best! :D 
> 
> Ah, I finally finished this! I love soulmate AUs, they’re so fun to write. This was different from what I usually write, though, so I'm not very sure about things, but I think it's not too bad. I tried to stay light in the angst department, but then when I reread Scarlet for reference, I realized it's not like the book is very fluffy to begin with... so uh, yeah. Grab some snacks, get comfy, I hope you enjoy!

“Bonjour, Scar!” Émilie says brightly from the doorway of the cool storage room. “Guess who’s here again?” she asks. “C’mon, I’ve gotta show you him.”

Scarlet knows who isn't here. She glances up with a sour expression. Émilie’s always so cheerful. Usually, it’s fine. But today, it’s so hard to bear. Scarlet’s whole world is crumbling down and she doesn’t know how to put the pieces back together, can’t even find them—and here Émilie is, still daydreaming about fairy-tale romances and a world of color.

Scarlet doesn’t need color. She just needs her grand-mère back, except no one will even help her. No one will even acknowledge that something is wrong.

Émilie blinks, grin faltering. “What happened?” she asks, worried. “You look like shit. Is it about your...?”

Yeah, she feels like shit too. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Scarlet says tersely, making her way out the door and past her friend. She doesn’t want to talk about anything that isn’t going to help Grand-mère right now.

“She’ll be back, don’t worry,” Émilie says. She sounds like she means it, but just because she means it doesn’t mean it’s true. “Don’t talk, just listen.” She latches onto Scarlet’s arm. “Or watch. Seriously, Scar, when you see him, you’ll know what I’ve been talking about.”

“I really don’t think I will, Ém.” Scarlet grimaces and pulls away. Émilie doesn’t seem to mind, following her anyway. “Besides, you haven’t actually done that much talking. You just sigh dreamily like he’s hung the moon.”

"Hey!” Émilie protests. Why, Scarlet’s not sure, since it’s not as if Scarlet’s exaggerating. “He’s gorgeous. And also, he’s got this _aura_.”

Scarlet groans. “Have you been reading Stellar Soulmate again? Auras, really?”

“I’m serious!” Émilie says. She doesn’t deny having read the magazine. “He’s got this lone wolf look. He’s quiet. Shy. He’s been around here every day like he’s waiting for something. Sophia said he’s a street fighter. Should I go suggest a proper dinner between the two of us? He’s kind of bad at ordering food...”

“Wait, what—a street fighter?” Scarlet repeats, frowning. “You... Ém. Why. Doesn’t that concern you?”

“Not really. He’s sweet. He’s got these eyes...”

Scarlet doesn’t understand people who go about their lives searching for The One. She never will. That’s why other people don’t understand her, either.

Grand-mère understands.

“Émilie!” Giles yells at her to go do her job. He glares at Scarlet like she’s the distraction, like it’s her fault, and she’d better get out of here before he deducts more univs from her pay.

Scarlet glares back, gritting her teeth. Today, _everything_ is so hard to bear.

***

Scarlet exhales, pausing in her steps for a moment when she sees the man Émilie was talking about. It has to be him. Scarlet doesn’t recognize him, and as much as she hates to say it, Émilie was right.

He has a certain look. Scarlet can’t identify it, nor where he’s from. There’s something about his eyes, like they’re brighter than the rest of Scarlet’s vision. Almost like if Scarlet squints, she could see something more there...

He looks up at her, and his eyes flicker with something inexplicable. Scarlet shakes off the thoughts—she’s been listening to Émilie’s swooning too much—and walks up to him, setting down the plate. “You ordered le croque-monsieur?”

“...Thank you,” he says hesitantly. Huh, what do you know. He is shy after all. Although he’s definitely not shy when it comes to eating.

“Do you want us to bring you the whole pig?” Scarlet asks dryly. “It would save the servers the trouble of running back and forth from the kitchen.” Not that Émilie wouldn’t be thrilled to do just that.

The fighter blinks. “The food is good here,” he says.

Scarlet raises her eyebrows. “Fighters must have different takes on what tastes good and what tastes like it came out of the sewer.”

He blinks again. He looks like he wants to say something, but then his gaze trails back to Scarlet’s hair and lingers there. He’s not the first one to stare, but she’s never seen a gaze so intense. It’s... different, to say the least.

“You see the red, I’m guessing?” Scarlet asks dryly. She’s had a lot of tacky people comment on her hair. So red, they say. So pretty. They seem to take her name is a sort of invitation for them to flirt or talk about soulmates. Sometimes both.

He startles, looking back quickly to Scarlet with a faintly guilty look on his face. “Yes,” he says dutifully. “It’s very red.”

“So I’ve heard,” Scarlet says. “I wouldn’t know. Color’s not my thing.”

Wolf looks down. He, at least, has enough tact to not ask about this.

Scarlet sighs. “You should try the tomatoes,” she says, motioning at the tomatoes he’s plucked out of the sandwiches. “I hear they’re red too, you can check for me if that’s true.”

“I’ve never tried them.”

“ _Never_? You’re missing out.”

He looks like he doesn’t know how to reply to that. His How to Socialize 101 Handbook probably doesn’t teach what to say in this situation. So in lieu of responding, he takes a few slices of tomato and plops them into his mouth. “It tastes good,” he says, surprised. He gulps down the rest, licking his lips. “Are... are there more?”

“Yeah,” Scarlet says, amused. “There’s plenty to go around, you can order them from the servers. I don’t actually work here, I just supply the tomatoes and—" She cuts off when the rest of the tavern crowd shouts simultaneously about something on the screen.

“It’s disgusting!” Roland, a tavern regular, says, sneering at the screen. “A cyborg, trying to get in a royal ball? Who—no. _What_ does she think she is?”

The ball. Of course. Scarlet looks over towards the screen, towards what everyone is talking about.

The other tavern regulars roar with ugly laughter. Roland’s smirk is slimy and revolting. Scarlet wants to punch it off his face.

“And a Lunar on top of that! Thinking she has a chance with Emperor Kai?” someone adds. “She’s broken. Everyone knows cyborgs don’t work the same like us.”

Roland chortles. “Yeah, ain’t that right,” he says. “They’re just bedwarmers until we find The One.”

On the screen, the girl—so young, even younger than Scarlet—looks so lost. Alone. Pathetic. Not only is no one helping her, but she’s being ridiculed, despised, for being different.

Scarlet clenches her fists angrily and swings around, rage pulsing through her. She reaches to pluck out the netlink cable. The screens go black, dark as her world. “That girl’s about to be executed, and you all don’t even have the simplest human decency to show some respect!” she spits.

The tavern goes loud with contempt and anger. Those are easier to harbor than fear. “She’s a Lunar!” someone says, like that’s enough to explain everything. “They can make you think things, see things that aren’t real. She _should_ be executed!”

“Everybody calm down! Give Scarlet a break!” Roland commands the crowd, raising his bottle of whiskey. “Or a breakdown. Am I right?” He laughs and everybody laughs with him. “The whole Benoit family’s crazy, from the old to the young. Figures Scar would defend Lunar rights.”

Next thing she knows, Scarlet’s punching Roland in the ear, her own ears ringing. The only thing she can hear is the rush of her blood, the fury of her thoughts. She’s shouting, and she can’t believe she’s still surprised at how heartless these people who self-proclaim to be righteous can be.

“So we’re different!” Scarlet snarls. “That doesn’t mean my grandma’s crazy, and I sure as hell wouldn’t _want_ to be like any of you.”

"You couldn’t even if you wanted to be,” Roland says. “You can’t see any color at all, can you—“

There’s a whirl of movement, impossibly fast. A table falls and Roland is lifted up into the air, a hand wrapped around his neck. She catches a glimpse of a tattoo on his arm—LSOP962.

Scarlet breathes heavily, eyes wide.

He attacks Roland. Defends her. He doesn’t have to, he’s just a stranger. He has no obligation. But he does it anyway, because he knows he should do something.

“I believe you owe her an apology,” the fighter says quietly, and somehow, that’s scarier than anything else might be. He looks calm, like the violence he’s shown is just another day for him, like he’s not this close to killing someone. Maybe he’s used to this. Scarlet shivers.

It’s scary, how easily he fights, how Scarlet can’t seem to look away. She wonders if he enjoys it—the glint in his eyes tells her yes. It scares her more to wonder about how much that should disturb her but doesn’t, because Roland deserved every single punch.

When they’re kicked out of the tavern, Scarlet is glad to go. She doesn’t want to go back.

There’s something she needs to do too.

***

When the man— _Wolf, they call me Wolf at the fights_ —asks Scarlet for a job, Scarlet’s tempted to say yes even though the farm has a full staff already.

She says no, but the thing is, she really wants to say yes. She finds herself curious. She finds herself wanting to see Wolf for just a little longer.

Those aren’t thoughts Scarlet needs, especially not right now (especially since Wolf said he could see red). Scarlet berates herself for getting distracted. She has more important things to do right now than to be led astray, off her path and into the woods to follow a wolf. She needs to find Grand-mère.

A few hours later, she lets out a laugh, angry and sharp and betrayed.

***

The thrill of battle rushes beneath his skin, pulsing. Wolf watches his opponent: Hunter, undefeated.

Opponent. The word is distant, unfamiliar, just a thought that the humans use to describe what they pretend is civilized.

To Wolf, the only word that matters is prey. And soon, there are no words at all, red spilling as he attacks, swift and violent, and war is everything he's ever known. Hunter, being hunted, Wolf thinks.

He has to remind himself to pull his punches, lest he lose control. This is a show, a play-pretend—even if the restlessness bouncing throughout him and the savagery isn’t, even if it’s so hard to fight his instincts. It’s what he has to do, it’s his duty. And maybe it’s a little bit of a game, too, because otherwise it’s too cruel to think about.

This is what makes him feel alive. This is what he was born for, made to be. He can’t stop, not even if he wanted to.

It's too easy to lose himself in this—the adrenaline of the fight. He destroys his prey, and the crowd is silent now. They recognize raw power, in a primal sort of way. They know to be awed when they see him. To be scared.

In the corner of his eye, he sees a red, more vibrant than any he’s ever seen. Scarlet.

He freezes, standing over Hunter. Scarlet’s staring at him in shock, lips parted with shock and disgust.

Wolf flinches now, when he didn’t flinch away from blows to the flesh. _Please don’t hate what I am,_ he wants to say.

But show's over, and in the distance, there are sirens. A warning. The others don’t hear it yet, but Wolf knows it’s coming, inevitable.

"Scarlet," he says instead, unable to say more.

“Don’t,” she says. If she’s scared, she hides it well under that searing anger. "Is this what you were waiting for?" Scarlet hisses, the heat in her voice blindsiding Wolf. “Sitting there for a week, Émilie told me. Huh? Waiting for the granddaughter of the woman you kidnapped?”

No. The show isn’t over, it won’t be until the mission is complete. Wolf lets confusion drip into his expression and he lies. He lies through his teeth, and it feels like his fangs are drawing blood with each lie, red red red.

He’s good at lying. He’s always been good at it. But for once in his life, he wishes he weren’t.

Scarlet is cautious and wary, but she believes him because she wants to believe him.

“I’ll help you,” Wolf offers. It’s part of the script, part of the act. Lunar Special Operative, he reminds himself. That is where his loyalty lies, his loyalty can’t be a lie.

When he tells Scarlet to not rush into things, she, as expected, rushes straight into things.

“What if your father is right?” Wolf asks, and what is he doing, is he really trying to convince her to stay? “What if there’s something hidden here that they come back to look for?”

“They won’t find anything,” Scarlet says. She’s so fierce, unswaying in her beliefs. “Grand-mère and I don’t keep secrets.”

Wolf shuts his eyes for a moment, but he still sees scarlet, branded inside his mind, brighter and more blinding than anything else he’s ever known, brighter than even blood. He didn’t know there could be anything _more_ than blood, but here she is.

Soul bonds do not work the same for Lunars, who can see color no matter what, who can even use glamor to make humans see color. Soul bonds do not work the same for Wolf and those specially trained. They’re even more different. Their colors are taken away, suppressed, with nothing but red left. Stimulates violence, they say. Bloodlust.

Passion?

A human as good as Scarlet couldn’t possibly have Wolf as a soulmate. Wolf doesn’t have the luxury of love, there is only Luna and the wishes of the Queen.

There’s only this lie he’s building. He’s scared of when everything comes crumbling down.

Wolf doesn’t want to go back to Paris. He wants to stay here.

“Do you miss it there?” Scarlet asks.

“No,” Wolf says softly. “I don't miss it at all.”

***

Wolf may be quiet when he’s not in the ring, but he’s restless. It’s hard to miss, in the way his legs are always bouncing and his eyes skitter around.

They always catch on Scarlet’s hair when he thinks she’s not looking, but he never says anything. Instead of being unsettling, which it should be, it’s... sweet, if a little inexplicably sad. His gaze is wistful. Scarlet thinks his eyes would be green, an enchanting color, she knows it—

The thought makes Scarlet recoil inwardly. Where did it come from? She digs her nails into the seat of the train, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart. Dangerous. He’s dangerous, in more ways than one.

He makes it so easy to forget, forget that she doesn’t believe in the soulmate business for a reason, forget that somewhere, Grand-mère is scared and in danger and Scarlet can’t afford foolish distractions.

Wolf doesn't feel like a distraction, because she feels a connection to him instead. They’re both different from others. Ostracized for things they cannot change. And most of the time, anyway, he looks more like a kicked puppy than some vicious wolf. Namesakes aren’t everything, Scarlet knows that.

“Let’s watch the net,” she says. “Do you have a favorite feed?”

Wolf averts his gaze. He always looks uncomfortable when he speaks. Maybe he’s just not used to having company. “No, not really.”

“Yeah. I don’t have much time to watch the net either, what with managing the farm and...” Grand-mère being missing.

Wolf remains silent.

“You’re not very good at talking, are you?” Scarlet asks, then quickly continues when Wolf looks indignant. It’s endearing. “I’m teasing.”

“My fists usually do the talking.”

Her lips quirk up. “I can see that. You fight very well.”

“It’s the only thing I know,” Wolf says. His brows pull together. “It’s the only thing I am.”

Oh. Scarlet feels a pang in her heart. “You’re more than that,” she says. “You know tomatoes now, too. Maybe you’ll learn broccoli and carrots next.”

Wolf considers this, expression strained. Then he says, “I started fighting when I was twelve.”

It’s been a long time. Wolf does look like he’s been fighting all his life. “For money?” she asks.

“No.” Wolf looks at her nervously, rushing through the next words, like he desperately needs to tell her. “For status. I’d just joined the pack, but it became very clear very fast that if you don’t fight, then you’re nothing. You become a slave. An omega,” he says with derision. “And you can’t do anything to change that. I had to fight. I had to win. That’s why I do it. That’s why I’m so good at it.” _And not because I like it._

“You’re trying to convince me that?” Scarlet asks after a moment.

Wolf nods. “I... please. I saw how scared of me you were. No—disgusted. And you should be. But you said you like to know all sides of a story before judging, so, here’s mine.” He grimaces. “I hate losing control like that. I’ve always hated it.”

“I believe you,” Scarlet says. “But you sound like _you_ don’t believe it. You sound like you hate yourself. Don’t. You don’t deserve that.” Wolf looks at her, eyes wide. Scarlet gives him a smile. “You know, now that you’re out of the gang, you don’t have to fight anymore.”

Lost in the woods. Turns out it’s not the little girl who’s lost, it’s the wolf. Wolf licks his lips, uncertain, but there’s a trace of hope in his eyes. Such an intense gaze. “I’ll always have to fight,” he says.

“Then fight for something else,” Scarlet says. “Something you want to fight for.” And not what he’s been conditioned into fighting for.

Wolf says nothing. She can’t read his expression.

Scarlet’s the one to look away this time.

***

After Ran, after Scarlet shoots Wolf, there is a moment that hangs in time, all warmth and heat. His eyes (green, she thinks, they would be such a beautiful green, if only she could see them—) flicker to her lips. She thinks he might kiss her. She wants him to kiss her.

But he doesn’t. He just gently caresses her hair, inhales deeply and moves away. But Scarlet knows, now. She sees him.

Oh. Oh. Scarlet swallows. She knows what that gaze means now.

Wolf looks at her and he looks hungry.

Scarlet shivers, and reaches out before Wolf can leave. “Wolf,” she says breathlessly, and pulls him into a kiss because she’s not going to wait forever for Wolf to do something.

He's sweet and strong. Her vision flickers for a moment, pain surging through her mind, and she sees, she just knows—

“Green,” she gasps, tears welling in her eyes because she hasn’t seen anything green in so long, and the sudden vibrancy burns like fire. “Your eyes _are_ green, Wolf, what—?”

Wolf recoils as if shot in the heart. “What?” His eyes are wide with worry, but the green is gone, and the sudden loss burns even more.

Green. Green. The memory of the color thunders in her mind.

Scarlet takes a deep breath. It doesn’t do much to calm her nerves. Was that real? Did she—is it even possible? She was born without a soulmate—without a color she could see. So was her grand-mère. It’s genetic, very rare but not unknown, and it’s a difference that’s made her feel alone.

She’s never heard of anyone who had no color suddenly gain one, because no one can. It’s impossible.

Isn’t it?

"I thought,” she begins, and hates how her voice wavers. She grits her teeth and takes another breath. It shouldn’t affect her so much. She can’t let it. “I thought I just saw green,” she says flatly.

“You saw green,” Wolf repeats, voice hoarse. He shuts his eyes for a moment as if he’s the one who can’t bear to look and see what he can’t have. When he opens them, he’s smiling wistfully. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“What for?” she asks, letting out a laugh. It sounds weak to her ears. “You still just see red, right? I guess... I’d hoped.”

Wolf winces, guilty, and look at that, a wolf looking sheepish. “Scarlet—“

“I never saw any color,” Scarlet says. “I was born this way. So was Grand-mère. It’s not your fault.”

Wolf sees red, but his red is not Scarlet. It can't be. This is real life, not some fairy tale. There's no happily ever after.

She used to think that it didn’t matter that she wouldn’t have a soulmate, she wouldn’t have cared either way. But now that she—magically, impossibly—saw green, a beautiful shade, enchanting, she misses it.

“Scarlet,” Wolf says. “I don’t need any other color. Just you. It'll always be you.” He’s gentle. Honest. He pulls her in for another kiss.

Scarlet believes him. She shouldn't, but she does. 

***

“I remembered something,” Scarlet says. “Something I think they want to know.”

“No,” Wolf says, covering his ears, “no, no. I didn’t hear that.”

“Wolf?” Scarlet sounds confused. She doesn’t know. She can’t know. She will. “Isn’t this good? They want information, I have information. We’ll barter for my grandma’s safety, and then—“

Wolf doesn’t want to think about _and then_ , because if Scarlet goes, there won’t _be_ an _and then_. He’s greedy. Selfish. Now that he’s seen scarlet, he can’t go back. The world pales in comparison. “Scarlet,” he rasps. “Don’t go.”

He knows before he even says it that it’s too late. He knows it. He can’t stop her, he knows what’s coming, and this is inevitable.

Wolf wishes he could lie, could convince her to not go, could find a way to not lose her. He can’t. He _can’t._

He shudders.

There’s no choice. It’s not choosing between the world and Scarlet. Scarlet _is_ the world, and it would be too dark without her.

Duty. It’s his duty. It’s what he wants.

It’s _who_ he wants.

Scarlet.

“You’ll do what you have to do,” he murmurs. “And so will I.”

Blood might be what makes him feel alive, but Scarlet makes it worth living. This is what he never knew he thirsted for, but he knows they’re meant to be. He wants her, needs her, loves her.

He can’t stop, and he doesn’t want to.

***

When Wolf kisses her again—how dare he—Scarlet almost manages to muster up hatred for him, mind screaming traitor traitor traitor, but something else burns instead.

She can’t look away from his eyes. They’re emerald, enchanting. Though the rest of the world is still in shades of gray, everything has changed.

“I know what you mean,” she whispers, holding the ID chip tight. “You’re the only color that matters.”

Scarlet doesn’t need color. She’s more than happy with her black and white and gray, and her green. Hers. Just like she’s Wolf’s red.

Soulmates. Huh. Who’d have thought. It isn’t so bad. It’s not bad at all.

Scarlet smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday again, I hope you liked this! Thanks for being such an awesome friend <3 Michelle 
> 
> Oh, and in case it confused anyone, I implied that if a human's soulmate is Lunar, they don't see any colors at first (since the Lunar half has all the colors when born). This is why her grand-mère understands.


End file.
